False Identities
by obeytherandomness
Summary: John's not and idiot and he know that these people are Sherlock even though Sherlock is supposed to be dead.


I don't own Sherlock.

* * *

Doctor John Watson was not an idiot. Oh, he was no genius by any stretch of the word, but he was not an idiot despite what Sherlock continually told him. And because Doctor John Watson is not an idiot, he sees what others cannot. It's nothing special. His ability of sight is shared among many others, but Sherlock would be proud of him nonetheless. Even though he wouldn't know what John saw for a long time to come, John knew that Sherlock would be proud of him. He couldn't wait to tell Sherlock what he saw when Sherlock returned because Sherlock would return from his "death". He made that very obvious by visiting John. A lot. He always used different identities, it would be suspicious if the same person kept showing up and meeting John in random places, but John always knew it was him.

John didn't actually see anything strange about the people that he met. He couldn't point out one thing that was different or strange about the identities, but he knew they were different. When Sherlock asked him in the future how he knew, because Sherlock wouldn't let the chance to learn something from John pass by him, he would just shrug and say that he just had a feeling that the identities were Sherlock. And that was all it was. That was the only way that he knew that these identities were the man that was supposed to be dead, but he trusted it with his whole heart.

The first time Sherlock appeared before him it was in the disguise of a nun. John was standing heavily on his cane at Sherlock's grave and just staring at the words carved into the stone that couldn't possibly describe Sherlock. He felt the longing and despair that always accompanied the death of a friend in combat. He had learned to work his way through those emotions a long time ago, though, and they wouldn't have him standing at the person's grave everyday for a whole month. No they wouldn't, but there was something more. Something that he would have to understand when his eyes weren't so clouded with grief.

He didn't notice the nun walk up to him until she was nearly right next to him, but when he did notice her he couldn't help feeling suddenly calm. That was the feeling Sherlock always seemed to make him have even when the man was always stressing him out. He felt safe and warm and, for a moment, he though he might turn and see Sherlock standing next to him ready to insult his intelligence about actually thinking that he's dead. But when he turned he found a kind old woman standing next to him and staring at the tombstone with him. Still, he didn't feel disappointed. He knew in his heart that this woman was Sherlock. He just had to convince his mind that it was true too.

"I've seen you here many times dearie," the woman smiled at him kindly after a moment. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as Sherlock, but her hunched back put her almost at eye level with John. "He must have been very important to you."

"He was," John smiled back at her with the same kindness that she showed him. He knew that, if this truly was one of Sherlock's disguises, that the man had a good reason for hiding himself and that he would not want to be outed at their first meeting. That would mean that the meetings would have to stop and John wanted very much for them to continue. This was only his first meeting, but he could tell that there would be several more to come before Sherlock returned and he wanted it to stay that way. Then there was also the possibility that the woman really wasn't Sherlock and, if that were the case, John didn't want to know that Sherlock really was dead. He wanted to hold onto this hope that the man was still alive.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the nun said sincerely.

"I'm not sad you know," John said. The nun paused for a moment and her eyes showed a sharp sadness before they returned to their welcoming emotions. It was hard for a person to remember their aliases when they had a shock, Irene had said, and John just shocked Sherlock with his words. It was kind of what he was going for. It was a sign that this really was Sherlock and John took it, but he wouldn't let Sherlock suffer because of it. "He's not gone. Not really."

"Oh yes," the woman quickly recovered herself by using the escape John had provided her. "So few people believe in heaven anymore," she continued a little sadly.

"Sherlock never did," John smiled, "but I do."

"Do you believe that he's gone to heaven?" the nun asked him.

"You could say that," John answered. "I don't think I'll be coming back here as much anymore."

"Oh," the nun smiled a little more brightly at this. "Have you found what you're looking for then?"

"I think I have," John sighed. "I really must be going. I haven't eaten in a while and I think that I'm starved."

"That's not good for your health," the nun chastised kindly. "You shouldn't skip meals."

John had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at Sherlock chastising him because the man barely ate and still was healthier than John. But he didn't act like that to normal people and he knew that Sherlock would not appreciate a change in the norm. "I will," he answered instead. "It was very nice to meet you ma'am, but I really must be going now."

"Goodbye then dearie," the nun said. "Do take care of yourself."

John left the cemetery with a smile on his face. That's what Mrs. Hudson always called them and John was not surprised that the word had slipped into Sherlock's speech when he was trying to act like a kindly old woman.

From that day on, John stopped going to the cemetery just like he promised and he stopped using his cane again, but he started going out to random places and being the social butterfly that he had been avoiding ever since Sherlock's death. He started taking walks in the park and going to the pub to drink a bit and chat up some girl that he would never take home with him. He even went to Scotland Yard to talk to Lestrade and see how the man was fairing with his life and the newfound lover named Mycroft Holmes. John didn't know about the relationship because it arose soon after Sherlock's "death", but it didn't shock him to find out the news. He had learned long ago that Mycroft also had Lestrade under a certain amount of surveillance and John figure out immediately what the random person following Lestrade was for. Apparently Mycroft had convinced Lestrade that the only reason the person was following him was so that Mycroft could keep a good eye on his brother and Lestrade had grudgingly accepted, but John knew that the person was really a body guard. If Lestrade ever got into any _real_ danger, the bodyguard would probably step in and save the day. That had yet to happen. Using his brother as an excuse failed immediately after the Fall and Mycroft had been forced to explain and now they're in a budding arrangement.

Sherlock visited him almost once a week whenever his schedule allowed it. Never at the house, because that would be weird for some random person to want to talk to John at his house, and not in the same persona, because he could not risk being found out. Sherlock was always very careful to keep them on light conversation so that neither of them would have to delve into the deeper conversations. It was always easier to make mistakes when a person was talking about the deeper things. John didn't mind. He liked to hear the stories and tales of all the people that Sherlock pretended to be and he didn't have anything to gain from blowing Sherlock's cover. Sherlock would come back on his own when he was done with whatever it was that he was doing and John was willing to wait that long. Besides, John was sure that Sherlock wouldn't have been able to make an acceptable trail for all of the identities without Mycroft's help, but John had the feeling that Mycroft either didn't know or didn't like the idea enough that he wouldn't help Sherlock. John was betting more towards the former than the latter.

One time John found himself running into a male jogger who had short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. They both had apologized and talked to each other for a few moments before Sherlock was on his way and John was left with a smile on his face and a picture in his hand. He had started taking picture of all the people that he thought were just disguises for Sherlock. He would have fun showing the man later.

Then, another time, John found himself with an arm captured by a hooker in one of the bars that he didn't really frequent but thought that he would give it a try anyway. She had propositioned him and John had politely declined. She had pouted and tried a little bit harder, but John just smiled. He asked her why she wanted the money and she blushed and explained to him that she needed the money to pay for schooling to become a nurse. They continued on the subject for a long time, longer than John usually spent with one of Sherlock's disguises, and John wound up slipping her what little cash he could spare from his wallet despite knowing full well that Sherlock wouldn't actually use it for schooling that he wasn't talking. He wondered at first whether or not Sherlock had planned the entire nurse thing, but he figured that the man probably did knowing full well that John would never accept a prostitute. It was still risky, though, because if John had decided that yes he would like some company for the nigh, Sherlock would have had a hard time disguising the fact that he had male bits and not female bit.

Of course, it wasn't until Sherlock made a mistake, that John was absolutely certain that all of these disguises were truly Sherlock. It was a hugely erroneous mistake, but it was the worst one that Sherlock could have done when trying to trick John into thinking he's dead even as he visits the man. He dressed up as a man recently invalided from the army. To anyone who hadn't been in the army the man would seem like a completely normal soldier, but to those who had he would have been suspicious. Sherlock didn't know some of the sentimental information about a soldier that John had never divulge and so couldn't copy it into his own persona. To John, it just confirmed his suspicions about Sherlock.

It had been a month since John had seen Sherlock and he was beginning to seriously doubt what he had believed about all of the disguises so far when the man returned. John was sitting at a park bench when Sherlock limped towards him in the guise of an invalided soldier. "Can I sit here with you?" the soldier asked.

"Of course," John smiled as he moved over slightly to make room for the soldier.

"Thanks," the soldier sighed gratefully. "The doctors tell me that I need to exercise my leg more, but this damn thing just won't stop hurting." That was mistake number one. Soldiers didn't talk about pain to complete strangers. And they especially didn't tell random strangers who they didn't know if they were soldiers or not about their pain. In fact, they usually did their best to continuously remain strong even around close friends and family members no matter how badly they were injured.

"No worries," John tells the soldier. "I used to have a psychosomatic limp so I sort of know how it feels."

"Oh really?" the man asked. "How did you get it?"

"Well," John said, "while I was in Afghanistan, I was shot in the shoulder and I guess the pain of not being able to go back manifested itself in my leg when I walked. At least that's what Sherlock tells me."

"Who's Sherlock?" the man asked curiously. John knew he would. Sherlock always jumped at the chance to learn about himself in John's eyes while he was in these different guises.

"Sherlock is a friend of mine," John said. He didn't want to blow it, though, so he added "He died a while ago though."

"I'm sorry for your loss," the man said and John answered with a grateful smile. It was what he had taken to doing whenever someone told him that because he knew that he hadn't really lost Sherlock, but he also knew that he couldn't let anyone know that. "Was he in the army too?"

"No," John shook his head. "He was a consulting detective. The only one in the world in fact."

"What's a consulting detective?" the soldier asked.

"It's a detective that the police consult," John answered simply. Sherlock would have given a longer explanation that would have had at least one insult directed at the yard, but John thought that this was a good enough explanation to tell Sherlock what he was already well aware of.

"Oh," the soldier nodded.

There was a comfortable silence between them before John broke it. "So what happened to your leg?"

The soldier froze. Apparently Sherlock was in such a hurry to see John that he didn't actually take the time to think of his background. This actually surprised John because he thought that Sherlock would have at least taken the time to think of how he got injured. He must have really been in a hurry then.

"You don't have to tell me," John amended quickly. "I know what it's like to have PTSD too."

"Thank you," the soldier gave a relieved smile and the conversation turned back to John. They talked for a while longer before the soldier had to go and John took a picture of him before they said their goodbyes and went there separate ways.

Of course, John did meet other people that he knew weren't Sherlock. He was being very social so there was no way that he wouldn't meet other people. He was shocked, however, when one of those people put him on guard the moment he walked up to him.

It was in a bar where John was nursing his first and only drink when a man stumbled over to him. "It's you!" the man yelled drunkenly. John tensed the moment the man spoke to him. For some reason the man put him on guard. "You're that guy!" the man continued without noticing John's discomfort. "The one in the news with that other guy! Sherlock!"

John just stared at the man. Well at least that's what it looked like from everyone else's perspective, but he was really examining this new guy. He was relatively strong and had some good muscles on his and John could tell, being a doctor and all, that the man wasn't really drunk at all. He was pretty sure that the mug that the man was drunkenly spilling everywhere was actually his first.

"You're John!" the man yelled.

"Doctor John Watson," John correctly stiffly.

"Oh whatever," the man laughed. "Where's that other guy? That Sherlock dude." That's when John realized what this man was here for. Apparently whatever Sherlock was doing at the moment, some people had caught on and were trying to figure out if it was Sherlock. Who better to ask then his best friend?

"He's dead," John answered just as stiffly. He was not going to give away Sherlock's cover no matter what the man said.

"No way man!" the guy yelled. "I just saw him the other day."

So now he was going to try to throw John off by making John think that he was actually alive and make John want to look for him. Too bad John already knew all that and knew that he didn't really have to look for Sherlock because the man always came to him.

"He's dead," John repeated with a scowl. Sherlock had taught him well and he had thrown in some of his own tricks to be able to be a good actor. Besides, if he could fool the genius that is Sherlock into thinking that he didn't know the man was all of the disguises, then he could fool this guy into thinking that Sherlock was still very much dead.

John took a long swig of his beer before grumpily slamming it back on the table. He put some money down, enough to pay his bill, and stood to leave the bar only to be stopped by the drunken man's arm being thrown over his shoulder.

"I totally saw him the other day," the man smiled.

"Look dude," John growled. "I don't know who you are, but Sherlock is dead." He stopped only long enough to take a picture of the man. "And if you come near me again I will call the cops."

"Okay man," the drunken man said a little more soberly than he probably should have. "Whatever." John turned and walked out.

The meetings with Sherlock continued for three whole years. He fell asleep on Sherlock's shoulder when he was dressed as a boring businessman on the tube only to be woken up at the exact stop that he needed to get off at because that was the stop the businessman needed. An old man came to his clinic for a regular check up and found out that he was in tiptop shape for his age. They continued for three whole years and they were starting to not be enough for John. The disguises were great, but he wanted to talk to the real Sherlock. He wanted his intelligence to be insulted because Sherlock didn't know any better and he wanted to hound Sherlock about eating and sleeping again. He wanted Sherlock back so when the door to 221b burst open and Sherlock sulked into the room with no intention of seeing John until he returned from his shift at the clinic that he had skipped because he wasn't feeling well.

"Well hello to you too," John said to Sherlock from his seat in his favorite chair.

Sherlock froze in the middle of the living room and stared at John. He hadn't been expecting John yet and didn't know what he was going to tell the man. He had expected everything from anger to John thinking he was just a ghost, but he hadn't had the chance to actually make a plan for each one. What he hadn't been expecting, though, was for John to just act like he had never been dead in the first place. "Hi," he said weakly without knowing what else to say.

"Welcome back," John said. "How was the case?"

"You're not mad at me?" Sherlock asked.

"I know you must have had your reasons," John answered, "which is how I know that you were on a case. So how was it? Is it over now?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I've dismantled all of Moriarty's crew and it's finally over."

"Well that's good," John said. "Does that mean that you're here to stay then?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded enthusiastically.

"Good," John said seriously. "Do you want to know what I've been up to while you were gone?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered quickly. John was surprised that Sherlock was actually interested, but he pulled out his camera and handed it over to the man. "What's this?" Sherlock asked as he waited for it to turn on in his hands so that he could look at the pictures even though he was pretty sure that it would be filled with pictures of his disguises and other men and women that he had met along the way.

"It's what I've been doing while you were gone."

Sherlock nodded as the camera finally turned on and he scrolled through the pictures. He was shocked to find that they were all filled with his disguises. There were no pictures of other random people. They were just him. Until it came to the drunken man. "Who's this?" Sherlock thrust the camera in John's face.

"That guy was hounding me in a bar about you being alive," John shrugged. "I think that he was trying to get me to tell him whether or not you were. I told him you were dead of course. He must have been one of Moriarty's men."

Sherlock nodded. He had recognized the man's face immediately when he had seen it and just wanted to make sure that John hadn't been hurt by this man. Sherlock knew exactly where the man was so the he could exact revenge if he did.

"Funny, though," John continued, "that that one picture is what you asked about."

"I recognized him," Sherlock said stiffly as he continued to look through the pictures. "He was one of the last ones that I took out."

"And you're not interested in any of the other ones?" John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please," he said sarcastically. "I can deduce everything that I need to know about them from the pictures."

"Tell me Sherlock," John continued. "How did the soldier hurt his leg?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"The soldier," John said. "I know you've past him because he was before the drunken man. So how did he hurt his leg?"

"IED," Sherlock answered. "His car was blown up and he got shrapnel in it."

"I was just wondering," John said. "Why didn't you know that when you were pretending to be him?"

Sherlock froze again. "You knew?" he asked.

"There was this kind old nun who came to talk to me at your grave," John said.

"You knew from that moment?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "I know you Sherlock. You can't fool me."

* * *

Oh my gosh! I actually succeeded in making a oneshot. Most of my other stories were meant to be oneshots, but always got to long. It's a long oneshot, but it's a oneshot nonetheless.

Anyways. I hope you like this story too.


End file.
